


Comfort Comes In Flannel

by DragonGirl420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl420/pseuds/DragonGirl420
Summary: Dean tracks down an old friend that has gone M.I.A. and discovers that maybe she’s not really okay and that his feelings for her are a bit more than a friendly, after all.





	Comfort Comes In Flannel

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For the anon who requested a Dean x Reader fic: “Hey so uhhhh I saw your requests were open and I’m having a pretty rough time atm. My boyfriend of 2 years broke up with me last night and I kinda wanted to request a Deanxreader, since dean always helps to make me feel better “

“Hey Sam, have you heard anything from Y/N lately? I tried her cell few times and nothing. Starting to think we should pay a visit, you know?”

Sam barely looked up from his reading, the book on Greek Gods had completely taken his attention. “I’m sure everything’s fine. You know how Y/N gets. Goes off the radar sometimes. Nothing we need to worry about.”

Dean shook his head slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, man. Something tells me we should.”

Sam looked up finally and saw how concerned his brother was. “Look, last I talked to her, things seemed fine.”

“Seemed? Sam, come on. After what she went through? We promised we’d check in, often.”

“And we do, Dean. Just cause she’s not answering her cell doesn’t mean there’s a problem—our kind of problem, anyway.”

“I get that, I do, but my gut tells me—”

“Then why don’t you take a drive?” Sam sighed, looking up again in slight annoyance.

“Sorry if I am distracting you from your very important reading, but a friend of ours could be in trouble and…” Dean trailed off and shrugged sarcastically, gesturing towards the book.

“Friend?” Sam snorted a laugh and raised his eyebrows in question. “A friend? That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“She is, a friend. That’s all she is, and you know it.”

“Ok, whatever you say, Dean.”

Dean snorted in a feigned offense. “When have I ever said anything other than, she’s a cool chick and a good friend?”

“Uh, maybe every time you look at her? Twice she’s been to the bunker and you could barely keep it together. You call her like, once a week. Which in Dean Winchester’s cell-to-girl ratio, is basically married.”

Dean frowned, and his expression claimed he was insulted. “I am simply concerned for a friend. That’s it.”

“Right.” Sam slammed the book shut and stood up. “Ok, fine. Let’s go take a ride then.”

Dean considered it for a second and realized that maybe going alone was better. That and Sam was being a prick, so screwing with him was always an option, too.

“Nah, I’ll go. You go on there, Reading Rainbow, do your thing.” Dean tried to hide the smile that was lurking, but Sam’s frustration was too much for him to resist.

“You’re a dick,” Sam gripped, sitting back down and finding his place in the text.

Chuckling, Dean walked behind him and clapped his shoulder, hard. “Yeah, I sure am little brother.”

An hour later, Dean steered the Impala into an empty space across the street from Y/N’s house. There were lights on in a few windows, but when he looked up to hers, he saw it was dark. Remembering she had a few roommates to contend with, he tried to remember the premise he and Sam had arrived with when they first met Y/N on that case more than a year ago. They hadn’t been FBI that time, that time they were just themselves. Well, to a degree. They had gone in under the guise of being paranormal investigators for a new magazine that combined the scientific methods with the exploration of the spirit world. There was an unusually high number of hauntings in the area, so they started leaving cards around town and when they got the call to come help, they’d met Y/N.

Dean exited the car and recalled the details just enough to answer any curious questions the roommates may throw at him. Though he and Sam had become close to Y/N during the job and stayed in contact with her afterward, he didn’t believe the roommates knew the true extent of what had happened in the house. No reason to change that now.

Checking his cell, he saw it was well past ten, but for this house, that shouldn’t be an issue. Before climbing the steps that began the long walk to the porch, he tried her cell again. This time it went right to voice mail and his concern grew further. Taking the porch stairs two by two, he rang the bell and waited somewhat impatiently for one of the residents to answer.

The light flicked on in the hallway, allowing Dean to see the shadow of someone approaching. A younger brunette cracked open the interior door, but only enough for him to make out about half her face.

“You know it after ten, right?” the girl said, suspiciously eyeing him.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Is Y/N here? I’m an old friend.”

“If you’re a friend, you’d know she doesn’t live here anymore,” she challenged and went to close the door.

“Whoa, whoa. Since when? Please… I’ve been trying to get in touch with her,” Dean pleaded.

“Hold on.”

She closed and locked the door, but he could see her form go into another room, then heard low, muffled voices. The shadow reappeared at the door, but this time a different face. This one he recognized from the case last year, Lydie.

“Mr. Perry, it’s really late. You should have called first.”

“Right, well, I tried. I’ve been trying to reach Y/N. Do you know where—”

“No, and I don’t care. She just up and left one day. Said it was too hard being in the house since it all happened,” she said, her tone accusatory. “Last I heard she was staying at an efficiency motel out on Route 6.”

“Since when?”

“About a month now, I guess. She just said that she didn’t want to be here anymore and left. We didn’t know if she would be back, so we had to rent out her room. I moved her stuff into storage and haven’t heard from her since.”

Dean sighed, frustrated and a bit angry. She never mentioned any of that the last time they spoke. “Is she still driving the same car?”

Lydie nodded. “As far as I know. Look, Mr. Perry. Its late and to be honest,” she paused and looked behind her to be sure there were no prying ears, “we don’t talk about that anymore. As far as we’re concerned it never happened. Please leave, and don’t come back.”

She closed the door gently, but the sound of the interior locks was deafening. Dean stepped back off the porch, his mind swirling around his last conversation with her. She’d not mentioned any of this which bothered him the most. He thought they were closer than that. The need to find her was overpowering, so he turned and hastily stepped towards the Impala.

Dean spent the next hour riding up and down Route 6. There were only three motels, two of which were efficiencies. He would drive back and forth between them, looking for her or a sign of the car he last remembered her driving. Finally, sometime close to midnight, he spotted the familiar midnight blue metallic paint of her old Mustang pull into one of the lots.

He made it into the lot and killed the engine before she was finished rooting around in her trunk. The acquainted sound of the Chevy’s squeaking doors caught her attention, as Dean saw her pause in mid-action, and slowly turn around.

* * *

 

It had been a long night. Exhaustion was a word that had no meaning now; sleep had been elusive and trying. Turning off the engine of your brother’s old car, you sighed and rested your head against the steering wheel. You thought you might pass out right there, but the image of your brother’s face floated into your mind, making your eyes flutter open with a dull ache that one only felt when they were desperate for sleep.

From somewhere in the distance, the low hum of a big block V8 stuck out in the noise of the highway, making you feel a bit melancholy and suddenly missing the Winchesters. Dean had called several times, and you knew that if you avoided it any longer, he would be on the road trying to hunt you down. But he couldn’t find you, not yet. Not until you did what you had to and could prove you were doing it for the right reasons.

Getting out, you plodded your way around to the trunk and started moving things aside to find the bag you wanted to retrieve before going inside. The deep growl of that engine was closer now and then suddenly died. It wasn’t until you heard the creak of the hinges that you realized Dean had done exactly what you feared, only way sooner than you thought he would.

“You’re a tough cookie to track down,” the familiar deep sardonic tone of Dean Winchester broke through the night air.

Turning, you saw him leaning against the hood of the old Chevy, his arms crossed, and face twisted in a sort of scowl that read a mix of happy frustration. Your breath caught in your chest, and while you were surprised that he found you, you had to acknowledge that deep down you knew he would.

“Dean.” His name expelled in a quick breath of air, and you wanted to run straight into his arms, but resisted. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I didn’t hear back from you for a while, you won’t answer my calls. So…”

“So, here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“I’m sorry, I was gonna call you back—”

Dean laughed. “No, you weren’t. I just don’t get why. What happened? You moved out, didn’t say boo about it. Why?”

Your face scrunched up, more in an effort to keep your emotions at bay. You’d have to explain everything to Dean, and you would, but right in that moment, all you wanted was for him to hold you.

Dropping the bag back into the trunk, you stopped fighting your instincts and barrels straight into him; throwing your arms up and around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

Dean waisted no time in embracing you back. One arm firmly wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. He didn’t speak, and you were able to hold back the tears. But you stayed in that embrace for what felt like an hour. The smell of his skin and the light scratch of the flannel under his coat were comforting, and you silently chastised yourself from denying this feeling sooner.

His hand lightly stroked your hair and you involuntarily held him tighter.

“Not that I don’t love this greeting, Y/N, but what the hell is going on? It’s not like you to ghost out on me.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you sniffled, trying not to leave signs of your emotions all over his chest. “It’s been… hard.”

“What has? And why didn’t you call me? Call us?”

“I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I was going crazy in that house, Dean. I still saw him everywhere.”

Dean nodded in understanding and took a quick survey of the parking lot. “Why don’t we go talk inside, ok?”

You nodded, and reluctantly released Dean from the embrace. Suddenly, him being there was exactly what you needed. He kept his arm around your shoulder and walked towards the open trunk, grabbing the bag you’d dropped and closed the trunk.

“Think it’s a good idea to be driving around in his car? I know it means a lot, but if you’re having a hard time with his loss still—”

“It’s all I have left, Dean. But, it’s not just him. It was everything.”

Dean nodded in understanding and motioned his head towards the walkway of motel doors. “Lead the way.”

* * *

 

Once you were inside the room, Dean tossed the bag on the chair and took in the sight of the space. Empty takeout containers, newspaper clippings and at least a week’s worth of laundry were in sporadic piles around the room.

“Maybe you should take down the DND tag and let maid service have a go at this place,” he said with a sarcastic smile but changed expressions when he saw you weren’t smiling. “I just mean—”

“I know, it’s a pig sty.” You flopped onto the unmade bed and covered your face with both hands.

“This isn’t like you, Y/N,” he said, and slowly walked towards the second bed, silently reading the headlines of papers highlighted and strewn about. He turned on his heel, his expression now concerned. “Have you been hunting?”

Sitting back up, you knew you couldn’t lie. “Maybe.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Are you serious? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Maybe.”

“Dammit, Y/N,” he groaned, taking a seat next to you on the bed. “When Sam and I told you the truth, I warned you not to do this. I told you it would eat you alive.”

“Living in that house, trying to be normal was what ate me alive,” you said softly and hung your head. “Every day for the last year I tried to go on, to find a new normal. But I couldn’t. Nothing felt right, Dean. Like my life didn’t even feel like it fit anymore. All I could think about was what you and Sam were doing. How you made a difference for people, especially for me.  I needed to do that, too.”

“So, go volunteer somewhere. Play Chess with old people, take some dogs for a walk. You don’t dive into hunting!”

He was starting to get agitated, but one look at your expression calmed him. Dean exhaled a deep sigh and seemed to be carefully choosing his next sentence.

“Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do. You, go shower. Take a good long one. Alright? I will work on making this place look less like an episode of Hoarders and maybe grab some grub. No matter what,  _don’t_ leave this room until I get back. Alright?”

You nodded and cracked a smile, which caused his face to break out into one as well. He pinched your chin gently between his forefinger and thumb and lifted it up to his. “That’s my girl. Now go, cause you smell like you’ve been rolling in Wendigo shit.”

That caused a sudden burst of laughter to erupt from you. Gazing up at Dean’s face, you couldn’t believe how dumb you’d been to not call on him sooner. Regardless of his thoughts on you wanting to hunt, you knew, just from past experiences, he would somehow make you feel better and less alone.

* * *

 

An hour later, you finally emerged from the bathroom, a large puff of steam escaping when you opened the door that caused the mirror near the shower entrance to blur over. Towel in hand and still drying your hair, you turned towards the room and were stunned at its condition. Both beds were neatly made, all the papers had been picked up as had the piles of laundry. Take out containers were gone and there was the delicious smell of your favorite pizza wafting over from the table near the small couch.

You surveyed the room and was frozen in place by all Dean had accomplished in the hour. You could feel your stomach rumbling and just as you were about to lift the lid on the cardboard, the front door opened, and Dean strolled in, two six packs and a bottle of Root Beer in hand.

“Oh, hey!” he said, placing the drinks down on the kitchenette’s counter. “Not bad, huh?”

“How did you get all this, and that, done in an hour?” you asked and motioned towards the food.

“Well, a bit of a bribe and some harmless flirting at the front desk got housekeeping to come to help out, then I grabbed the pizza,” he beamed and then gave you an animated wink. “I know how to get shit done.”

Dean’s proud smile lit up his entire face. You bypassed the pizza and grabbed him tightly around the waist in an embrace. Resting your head on his chest, you could feel and hear the beat of his heart. When he put his arms around you, you swore you could feel  _and hear_  it start to beat faster.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into his chest and squeezed him tighter. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Dean snorted a nervous chuckle. “If I have my way, you won’t have to find out.”

You looked up to him and saw how close his face was to yours, suddenly feeling nervous. There’d always been an underlying  _some_ thing with him, but there was always more holding you back from thinking about it or even allowing yourself to explore it.

When you’d met Dean, it was so soon after losing your brother, and then dealing with the haunting. Having to lose him all over again crushed you, and you couldn’t allow yourself to really feel much for anyone. But over the last year, Dean had always gone out of his way to see you and check in on you. Twice you’d even ventured to the bunker for a holiday when you weren’t up to spending it with roommates, or alone. Sam was sweet and very friendly, but you had seen how Dean watched you sometimes. It was flattering, but there wasn’t anything left in your heart than to do anything about it.

Now… was different. Now, maybe, you needed something more.

The room was completely silent. Outside noise died away and all that was left to fill the space was the sound of Dean’s heart hammering in his chest. He swallowed thickly, moving closer to you, as you meant to meet him halfway.

The pout of his lips pressed against yours with more fervor than intended, though you weren’t alone there. There was no denying Dean’s need for you, as you felt his lips part and the silky sensation of his tongue brushed against yours. You let your arms fall from his waist, and instead gingerly wrapped them up and around his neck.

A deep growl radiated from his chest and Dean pulled you closer into him; his hands traveling down your sides and coming to rest at the small of your back. He didn’t stop kissing you, but he wouldn’t let himself get carried away; he couldn’t. Regretfully, he parted from your kiss and sighed heavily, catching his breath and his wits before things got out of control.

“I didn’t… I mean—”

“Dean, its fine. I wanted it… want you,” your eyes pleaded with him not to go or part from your proximity.

“Sweetheart, trust me, I feel the same. Tried not too, but you know how these things go. But, uh… I think for right now, we just hit pause. Maybe eat some pizza, have a beer.” Dean paused and looked at you hopeful that you’d understand why he was being hesitant while gently brushing a stray hair from your face.

“Take it slow?” you mused, knowing that he was probably right.

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed and felt angry at himself for holding back. “Besides, something tells me you’re gonna need some pointers if you wanna start hunting. My guess is we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other now. At least, I hope so.”

“I wouldn’t hate that,” you said and smiled. Deep in your gut, your hunger was becoming demanding; loud enough that even Dean could hear it complain.

He turned towards the boxes and grabbed two slices before handing you the plate. You took them happily and sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. Dean brought over a couple beers and one of the pizza boxes, tossing it on the end of the bed. Kicking off his boots he sat close to you, leaning forward to grab a slice before joining you against the headboard.  

The warm, greasy messy of cheese tasted like heaven as you inhaled a good portion of your slice, then washed it down with the bitter cold bite of the beer. Dean was flipping through the channels of the crappy motel TV and his eyes lit up as he caught  _Stripes_  from nearly the beginning. You watched him eat and chuckle along with the movie and chastised yourself again for not calling him sooner. Hit with the sudden realization that Dean was so much more than just a friend, you rested your head against his shoulder and exhaled. The familiar scent of his body wash and scratch of the flannel washed away the lingering melancholy you felt earlier and gave you a feeling of deep comfort.

Sensing your eyes on him Dean looked over at you and the lingering smile gave way to a more serious expression. Pursing his lips together is resignation, he kissed you again. Soft and sweet, and yet full of intention that it would not be the last of its kind.

When he pulled up from your kiss, Dean repositioned his one arm around your shoulder and drew you in closer. As the two of you enjoyed the pizza and watched the movie, you realized there was nowhere else in the world that you’d want to be. No place on Earth, could ever be better than ensconced in the arms of a Winchester.


End file.
